


Hospitality

by HappinessIsBlau



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappinessIsBlau/pseuds/HappinessIsBlau
Summary: “We know how to show real hospitality here in Sanctuary Hills,” she started, her thumb starting circles against the seam of his jeans, “and we could have a great time if you’re interested in partaking, of course.”





	Hospitality

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST AND FOREMOST: Breasts, a vagina, and she/her pronouns for Sole are used. Just want to make that clear! 
> 
> Now, for my garbage: I honestly don't have an excuse for this?? I usually keep these thirst-written fics to myself because they're SO fucking self-indulgent (multiple middle names Sole Survivor, traits that I have like tattoos and piercings, switching verb tenses in the middle of a fic because why not, weird headcanons) but I managed to slap this into kinda-sorta-shape. 
> 
> But, like, really. Why can't we kiss Deacon? 
> 
> If you are interested in my Sole, her name is Sophia and she's a cute ndn and latina babe with dyed red hair and green eyes and lots of freckles and body modifications because, like, why not. I love her dearly.

So against her better judgement, she’d decided to take a load off and have some drinks in Sanctuary Hills. 

Sanctuary Hills was beautiful in its own way. Her house still stood and she’d moved as much of her stuff in there as possible, boarded up the windows, hung string lights that she’d scrapped from one place or another, and swept the floors. It wasn’t what it used to be (“You can’t put the pieces back together,” she’d heard a trader “from down south” say, “but you can make something else beautiful out of them.”), but the neighborhood was bustling in a new -- different -- and hell, maybe even better way. 

The town was surrounded by high fences to keep the scourge of the wastes out (and make it a hell of a lot easier to defend), with a gate by the bridge (that they could blow up if necessary) and a hidden door protected by turrets in the back (for a quick evacuation, if need be). It wasn’t an impenetrable fortress by any means, but it was relatively safe, all things considered. 

Safety attracted people who stayed, rumors spread, merchants arrived, and the growth of the settlement made some rather enterprising folks decide to start businesses there that were easy enough to set up in some of the old homes that were still standing. A little bit of scavenged technology and some bar stools and voila -- a bar opened in Sanctuary. 

Of course, being the Mayor (kind of?) of Sanctuary Hills, she had to frequent it. Supporting local businesses had been something that she and Nate fought long and hard for, before the war--

Sophia sighed and shook her head, taking a swig of her beer. Now definitely wasn’t the time for thinking about that. 

She pushed her red bangs out of her eyes and adjusted her ponytail, glancing towards the stranger who sat to the bar stool on her left. 

Stranger wasn’t the right word -- it was very obviously Deacon, with his blue eyes behind the sunglasses that kept slipping down his nose. She knew he knew that she knew it was him, but he’d still had the habit of following her around anyway, even when she wasn’t traveling with him. Sophia made it a point not to ask why because she didn’t really care as long as he stayed out of her way. It was nice to have backup just in case she needed it, after all. 

“Another drink, General?” The girl behind the bar-- Amy, she corrected herself. Amy with the twin sons and the crooked but charming smile -- asked her, leaning close across the bar to hear her over the radio. 

“Sure,” Sophia replied, nodding towards Deacon, “and one for the new guy, too.” 

Amy glanced towards him, frowned, and looked back at Sophia who shrugged. 

“Thanks for such a warm welcome to town, _General_ ,” Deacon teased, downing his bourbon. Sophia grinned wickedly (because, hell, what was the use of alcohol if you couldn’t blame shit on it) and slid her hand down his knee. He jumped at her touch and turned eight shades redder when her hand slid up towards his crotch. 

“We know how to show real hospitality here in Sanctuary Hills,” she started, her thumb starting circles against the seam of his jeans, “and we could have a great time if you’re interested in partaking, of course.” 

Sophia could tell that he definitely never expected any of this, especially suggested in such a direct way. Amy was staring suspiciously at them but couldn’t see what Sophia was up to over the bar, but she probably had a good idea. Nobody else was concerned; as famous as The General of the Minutemen was, most settlers were too busy with their own drinks to really pay attention. 

“A-alright,” he breathed and Sophia was glad that she caught it over the noise of the radio. She slammed down more than enough caps to cover both their drinks and stood up quickly, knocking over her stool and realizing how dizzy she was. Deacon caught her and she was the one who blushed this time, giving him a tiny, embarrassed smile in appreciation. 

So she locked her fingers with his and pulled him along -- she could tell that he was still in shock with how direct she was with him. Usually it was his job to say or do something outrageous -- 

Like that one time that he tried to convince her that he’d had an arm wrestling match with a Deathclaw. Dude, she might have been frozen for 200 years but even she wasn’t stupid enough that he could arm wrestle with a 10 foot tall lizard that could disembowel a human with one swipe of it's fucking claws--

Right. Okay. Back to seduction. 

“This is my home,” she announced, as if he hadn’t been there numerous times. It really was her home, though. Somewhere in the city of Concord, in the desk drawer of some rundown, abandoned library, there was a deed that said, in sprawled signatures, that Sophia Dakota Marie Barker-deReus and Nathan Steven Orlando deReus owned the house at 212 Spring Street, Sanctuary Hills, Concord, Massachusetts. 

Sophia should have felt guilty, really, when she lead him into her room -- the room that she celebrated her honeymoon in -- the last place she had slept next to her now-deceased husband. 

Bad, self-depreciating thoughts could be for later. Right now, she was concerned with getting Tall, Ginger, and Sarcastic out of his pants. 

Sophia wondered briefly if he’d been with anyone since his wife died, or if he even had a wife in the first place -- one could never really tell with him. 

She’d slept with Magnolia two months after she climbed out of the Vault. The girl looked at her like her college girlfriend, all eyelashes and smiles, so who could blame her? 

“Are you okay with this?” She asked him and he snapped out of his reverie (she hadn’t even noticed that he slipped into one. She really was drunk.) 

“Yeah, I… yeah.” 

So she kissed him. Spontaneity was her new middle name, apparently. Continuing on the theme, she pulled off his sunglasses and sat them on her dresser, pushing him back onto her bed. 

He looked kind of vulnerable without those damned sunglasses. 

“I’ve always been fond of blue eyes,” she told him, wiggling out of her armor. 

“I always liked green ones,” he told her and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes because, like. He was doing her a favor, she figured, so the least she could do would be to try to take his compliments at face value. Deacon was doing her a friendly favor that involved some weird role-playing! Right, the only reasonable conclusion, yeah, that had to be it. Maybe he was high as well as drunk -- being around some of their other companions could cause that with all the second-hand smoke from various substances, after all. 

When she was well rid of anything that could stab or maim either of them at any point, She unzipped her vault suit and let it fall to the floor. 

He’d done the same while she was disrobing -- all of his weapons (well, all that she knew about, anyway) were sat politely on the floor so that they were still within reach if needed, and his clothes were even folded. 

She probably should have showered this morning and she should, at the very least, fold her suit -- but, nope, logic is out the window right now. 

She unclasped her bra as a courtesy because she knew from personal experience how much of a pain it could be, and threw it on top of her suit. The underwear followed. 

Now it was her turn to feel vulnerable, because it had been exactly 211 years, four months, and a few days since she’d been naked in preparation for sex in this room. 

Something told her that it would not be the last time in the near future that this would happen. 

Without his sunglasses to hide behind, Sophia could tell that Deacon was nervous. He didn’t know where to put his eyes so he wasn’t even looking in her direction. He seemed incredibly interested in her ceiling that was mostly missing. She’d have to fix that, like, later. 

She cleared her throat, stepping over his mini arsenal and straddling his lap. He was so warm and he had so many freckles. 

She knew he was naturally a ginger (the eyebrows gave it away even though he swore that he totally wasn’t) but these freckles were ridiculous, and she knew a thing or two about freckles. 

Tracing them up his arms, across his shoulders, and then dragging a finger across the bridge of his nose wasn’t romantic by any means, but it was pretty adorable to see him cross his eyes to follow it when she bopped him on the nose. 

He pouted at her and she laughed at him. Totally not an appropriate thing to do either when one is naked on top of another person. 

Deacon put his hand on her hip, bringing her back from her giggling fit. “Before we… don’t you want…” 

She shook her head, “I’m okay with just going for it, really,” and she was. Sophia was never really one for foreplay. It was just a distraction from the end result. 

He was already hard and pressed between them anyway, so she just readjusted and slid down onto him. He took in a shaky breath and she hissed -- she missed this feeling of being stretched so suddenly that she felt the twinge of too much too soon. It was exactly what she needed. 

“Fuck,” she said, and he let out the breath he was holding. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded, curling her toes, “Just gimme a second.” 

Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears and it still hurt but she could feel his pulse from ontop of him and she sure as hell didn’t want to call this off, not now. 

So she pulled nearly off of him and then slid back down and his breath hitched again like he couldn’t believe that they were really…

“Deacon,” she cooed quietly and he wrapped his arms around her middle, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed all the thoughts about it being real or not right out of her mind. Deeeefinately not time for that. 

Alcohol gave her too many intrusive thoughts. 

She picked up her pace, finally growing accustomed to him inside of her. He leaned back on his elbows and watched her bounce, tracing the intricate pattern of her tattoos on her ribs with his callused fingers. He probably hadn’t seen many that were still so vibrant since they were so often covered up and weren’t sun-damaged. 

Sophia was still so enamored by all of his freckles. How hadn’t she noticed them before? She learned forward to get a better look and he met her halfway, dragging her into a kiss. It wasn’t just a chaste kiss on the lips either (and she figured that was a good thing since she was about seven inches full of him at the moment), but a true, honest-to God kiss. 

He slid his tongue across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth, glad that she fucking brushed her teeth this morning. He untied her ponytail, letting her hair drop onto her shoulders from where it usually hung back. He hadn’t seen her with her hair down yet, she realized. She probably looked a hell of a lot more feminine now. 

Deacon was totally cupping her face in his hands now. She’d have felt more awkward about it if she wasn’t clinging to his arms, nails and all, melting into a more-than-platonic kiss while riding his dick. 

He deepened their kiss, reaching between them to rub her clit and she shifted and squirmed on him, doing little more than grinding his lap at this point, desperate for continued contact. 

His fingers were rough in just the right way and she was so fucking wet now that even though she fit like a glove around him, it wasn’t painful at all. She put her hands on his shoulders and braced herself to push more of him inside of her until he was buried up to the hilt -- his eyes were glossy from drinking, of course, but also from this. At least, she hoped so. 

She moaned his name (or the closest thing she knew to it) against his mouth as she came, digging her nails into his shoulders and probably clawing the hell out his back. 

He didn’t seem to mind, though -- where she left off due to her climax, he picked up the pace and met her, thrusting up into her as she came which launched her into another orgasm, her eyes tearing up as she begged him to, “Please, Deacon, please fuck me harder, oh please, oh please?” 

And that set him off -- he came inside of her with a moan that he cut off by biting down on the back of his hand. She rolled her hips against him as he came, feeling the warmth that comes along with a good round of sex. She waited until he stopped panting to kiss his hand where he’d drawn blood from biting down so hard, and she put it against her chest. 

As if everything hit him at once, he turned red again, and glanced between them to confirm that, indeed, they had carnal knowledge of one another. 

“Um, thanks, Mysterious Stranger that I definitely don’t know,” Sophia tried, still with his dick inside of her and his hand in hers against her chest. 

“I didn’t know you... um, piercings,” he made a weird pinching motion with his index finger and thumb, and she snorted. 

“I didn’t know that 80 percent of your body was covered in freckles,” she countered, not moving to get off of him until he cleared his throat and she whimpered when she felt him shift. 

She pulled herself off of him gently and he did his best to steady her. 

She tried to look as dignified as one could when beads of his cum rolled out of her and down her thighs. She knew that he noticed because his ears were a shade of red that she didn’t think was possible. 

She pressed her thighs together -- man, she was sticky, and tried her best to pick up her underwear from their place on the floor without, like, mooning him. 

“I’d ask you to bask in the afterglow but I’m sure you have some spying to do,” Sophia tried, and he took the hint. 

“Right, Railroad stuff, you know how it is. They can barely last a day without their leader, since Desdemona is just a figurehead, I've gotta do those leadering things,” he explained as he collected his tiny arsenal and put on his clothes once again, and she totally did know what it was like to lead an organization in this case, even though she knew that he wasn’t actually their leader since he had told her that himself like a week ago. 

“Totally. Have at it, have fun, and be safe. Call me when you get home,” and by the puzzled look on his face, she could tell that he didn’t get the reference in her final statement. That was one he’d have to look up and get back to her about. 

Right now, she wanted a bath and to pretend like she wasn’t sober enough to remember this in the morning.


End file.
